Why then six sick sink hole sized faces in the night do we the undersigned under sighs of silent night tears- tear apart this wretched soulless soul until tills ring out in triumphant terror the dawning of a dead age of aged lime- wire cauterising the silenced humanity that falls out face-first into the scorchedContinueContinue reading “Automatic Writing #3”
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Automatic Writing #3
Hide in the bark the forgotten winder spun the free song to the tired goats on the porridge farm. Hark so low the bottom of the fish was not where or when the first of all of the cattle tried the timpani dodgems up and down the tribal stares of all the stairs we haveContinueContinue reading “Automatic Writing #3”